


The Same Old Fears (Wish You Were Here)

by stopdrinkingitdown



Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, i made myself sad writing this, seriously this is not happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26827951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopdrinkingitdown/pseuds/stopdrinkingitdown
Summary: Findekáno survives the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Things are much worse.Whumptober Day Four: Collapsed Building/Buried Alive
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno & Maedhros | Maitimo
Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948534
Kudos: 12





	The Same Old Fears (Wish You Were Here)

**Author's Note:**

> this was... an interesting piece to write. actually wrote it a few months ago, just made some adjustments and some editing today. not really that happy with it but i hope you enjoy

The rumbling is what woke him. 

Perhaps ‘woke’ is the wrong word, since no one truly sleeps in this place. After days filled with pointless labor and torture for the amusement of Moringotto’s lieutenants, all that is left is to fall into a feverish sleep-like daze and wait for the next tortures to begin. 

It is a curse, he believes, the immortality of the Eldar. They are doomed to stay in Angband for eternity, their ‘gifts’ from Eru Illuvatar meaning they are hardly granted rest and food. They are all nameless broken thralls. What use are names when it serves to remind them only of the lives and loved ones they’ve lost. 

Names don’t matter in the dark. 

The rumbling jolts him back to awareness once again. 

It has been a strange day, time has no meaning either in the dark, but never are they permitted rest very long. He had waited in his cell, terrified as the apprehension of what is to come grows. He did not dare to sleep in terror of the punishment for as long as he could, but his body was exhausted and hurting, looking for any reprieve. 

He was not woken by the screaming (a regular occurrence as Moringotto’s lieutenants take great delight in the suffering of the thralls) or the sound of steel on steel (frequently heard when prisoners were forced to fight each other to the death). _(H_ __e_ was already once a Kinslayer, and now he has added to his crimes so many times his hands will never be clean).  _

The rumbling, though, could it mean-  _(no one is coming for you, little King, do you truly believe your brother will risk his hidden city to come save you, do you truly believe your cousin cares about you enough to return here, he will not repay you for your mercy.)_

A piece of the ceiling collapses. 

He jumps back, barely in time, and feels the rock scrape the side of his cheek. It doesn’t land on him, instead it lands just to left and directly on his chains. 

He doesn’t make the connection until he takes a hesitant step forward and doesn’t feel his chains jerk him back. The shackles have been ripped out of the wall and crushed. His hands are cuffed behind his back, but he can move freely. He can  _move freely. He can move freely._

His cell door is open. 

Moringotto’s lieutenants enjoy this mockery of freedom. Leaving them chained up and aware of the consequences for trying to escape, often the cell doors remain open. 

He does not move forward. Too well does he remember his one and only escape attempt. Being in the presence of Moringotto was already excruciating. Being at the mercy of Moringotto’s whims was horrific in a way he will never forget. 

The memory makes him hesitate, but the seed of something close to hope does not die. Freedom was a word never spoken by the thralls, a mere whisper was enough to attract ßauron like a wolf to blood.  _And yet-_

_ (You’re extraordinary, *****, I owe you my life a hundred times over. You’re brave, and loyal, and everything I am not. I would follow you anywhere.)  _

He clings to this fragment of a life destroyed like a drowning man. How long has it been since he remembered something of his life before?

He wants to speak to this elf, who made him feel loved, who held him while he had nightmares. He wants to scream in agony that they took his memories, his life, his relationships. 

With newfound determination he steps outside his cell. 

Three things happen next: the ground shakes, a piece of the ceiling falls, and he screams. 

He is pinned to the ground, his ribcage crushed by a huge tile. His hands were still bound behind him and he feels the bones begin to break from the weight.

He is sobbing, his breath coming in gasps. Each time he breaths out he cannot get a full breath in. He cries, not from pain, (Valar know he’s experienced worse) but at the loss of hope he had finally regained.

Most elves in this situation would call the name of a loved one, but those names were ripped from his head hundreds of years ago. Regardless, he doesn’t have the breath. 

He was so close. 

_ He was so close.  _

So dies High King Findekáno Nolofinwe. 

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve seen a couple stories playing around with the concept of fingon surviving as a prisoner in Angband, if anyone knows the names of those let me know and i’ll give credit. 
> 
> kudos and comments are very much appreciated!!!


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